Osbourne House
by Demensha
Summary: The Order has moved location thanks to the efforts of Remus but as tempers fly while plans are layed, questions arise and old faces make an appearance.
1. Silly Little Boy

Osbourne House

Chapter 1, Silly Little Boy

Hidden now in the new Order Headquarters, Osbourne House in the lonely acres of Dartmoor, the members congregated around the monster of a table situated in the main hall. The scarred and ancient wood was still sturdy beneath the inches of dust that suffocated every object in the once grand house. A miss-matched array of chairs and benches were pulled up close, huddling together for warmth while Molly and Remus lit the fires that ran down both sides, promising cosy heat. Around them, the grey flagstones stretched, grey stone walls towered and moth eaten tapestries hung. Above them great wooden candelabras reminiscent of medieval grandeur were suspended, their new wax candles lit and flickering, sending waves of shimmering amber light pouring down. Remus had said it had been built in the thirteenth century. He did not, however, feel the need to illuminate them as to how he came to find this place, nor how he knew it to be safe.

A roar and snap signalled that Remus had lit monolith fire down the left side, the room brightened as he paced over to Molly who seemed to be having some trouble. At the table, Harry was arguing yet again with Mad-Eye, Tonks, Hermione and Professor McGonnagall. For the past month Harry had taken on a Sirius-like suicidal belief that by hiding he was a coward, unfit to be a member and a Gryffindor and, as usual he was dragging in the sacrifice of his parents Lily and James, Sirius and Dumbledore into the argument to try and force the other members to see his blind point.

"Look for Merlin's sake!" Harry roared "My mum and dad didn't die for nothing you know! Nor did Sirius and Dumbledore! They died fighting for what they believed in not hiding like a pack of whipped dogs! They didn't lie down and take-"

"They died to preserve you, Harry," The quiet venom and loathing poured into that sentence made Harry stop in mid-tirade, turn and glower somewhere between shock and anger at the cold face of his previous Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.

"So I could fight and kill Voldemort not hide hoping it would all go away! I wont let so much loss go-"

"Loss?" Remus quizzical sneer sent shivers down Harry's spine, stopping him again. Was this the Remus that his father mistook for the death eater? Remus snorted, his lip curled. "You know _nothing_ of loss," Harry's face coloured as rage welled within in him. Of course he knew loss!

"I lost my parents! My Godfather! They'd be proud of my efforts to further our cause, they'd want me to-" Harry screamed into the silence of those around him.

"NO! No, they'd be turning in their graves right now if they could hear you rant on about _your_ loss, about what _they_ would have wanted to win an argument and get the go ahead in some hair-brained notion to try and get your sorry self killed. Everybody has lost something in this damned war and some more than others. Your loss Harry, in number, is thankfully small but their _sacrifice_ for your life is at the moment looking like a complete waste of their lives," Rage contorted the features of the usually sedate werewolf, his body shook with the suppression of it, and his blue eyes had shimmered into a hate-filled amber.

"You who never had the chance to know them, to understand what they would have wanted, _dare_ to even presume you know? You who speak of bravery and greatness yet simper and whine about the loss of parents you'd never spoken too, a Godfather you couldn't understand even if you tried and Dumbledore who not even the closest person to him could boast to know him well enough to understand his decisions. So far Harry, your efforts to further the cause have been a series of generally fortunate mistakes, accidents and meddling in what you could never comprehend. How much thought honestly went into those _efforts_ of yours, hmm? How much selfless consideration for the safety of what you'd call your dearest friends? Of course, Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived _must_ be saved, so which friend will go this time Harry?" Remus shook his head and looked back into the emerald green eyes. "You're good at magic, true, but you'll never be the great wizard they all believed you should be until you grow the hell up and get over yourself!"

Harry's face fell into a cold, rejecting leer as he surveyed Remus as if down his nose. He let out a snort of derision as he rounded his assault on Remus.

"And you, _wolf_, what do you know of loss? What can an _animal_ know of loss?" For a brief moment Remus looked as if he would strike the impetuous Harry, pound his infuriatingly stubborn face into the hard flagstones of the floor. His nostrils flared as he tried to calm himself, his lips set in a hard line and a deep scowl imprinted in the scarred visage that was Remus Lupin.

"Far more than a _silly_ _little_ _boy,_" Remus spat turned on his heel and left the hall, slamming one of the ten foot oak doors hard enough to send a shower of dust raining on the heads of all. Harry span back to face the members arranged around the table. Their faces, for the most part, were chalk white.

"Mark my words Potter, you get on the wrong side of that werewolf and by God you'll beg for death," Moody growled his magical eye now directed to the ceiling. Harry snorted. "I've seen his temper before and it was more than enough to give even me the shakes. Don't you mock it, or me,"

Then, in the silence that followed, Harry sat, sedated and quiet. He gazed fixedly at the table beneath his hands as he mulled over Remus' words. He didn't even notice the plate of food put in front of him some time later.

"I'll take Remus his-"Tonks offered innocently, getting up from her seat, the plate already in his hands. Moody's growl stopped her.

"Sit down girl; you'll only make him worse, you've been pestering him enough of late it's a wonder he hasn't exploded at you yet," Suddenly upset, Tonks returned to her seat, her eyes welling. Molly put and encouraging arm around her. "Miss Granger," Herione's gazed locked with his. "You take it for him; take yours too otherwise it'll have gone cold by the time you return. You'll find him-"There was a pause as Moody's magical eye span and fixed itself towards the left of the building. "On the first floor in the sixth room you come to." Hermione nodded obediently and grabbed the two plates, pacing determinedly out of the door to the entrance hall and the stairs upwards.


	2. Melancholy Dinner

Osbourne House

Chapter Two, Melancholy Dinner

Balancing the two plates on her right arm, Hermione knocked on the door before her. She transferred one plate into her left hand as she heard the latch lift on the other side of the door. The studded portal creaked open on protesting hinges revealing a cosy sitting room with elegant furniture and careful decoration. It all seemed out of place from the dusty, cobwebbed corridor she stood in.

"Come in, then," She heard Remus sigh somewhere out of sight. Swallowing she stepped through into the clean, warm room. The door closed itself behind her. Looking around she spotted Remus sat at a writing desk putting a handful of photographs back into one of the compartments. His back was to her, but she could see he still held a single photograph. She remained standing awkwardly in the silence until Remus turned and gazed at her with stunningly wolfish eyes. He smiled, almost sadly. "I've scared you now,"

"No- No not at all it just-"

"Shocked you?"

"-took me by surprise. Lord knows he deserved it though," Hermione smiled at him and walked steadily forward. "Molly sent me up with your dinner, mind if I join you? The conversation's dead down there," She giggled lightly, passing him a plate of roast beef, jacket potatoes and vegetables all covered in rich gravy. Inside she cringed at her pitiful attempts to lighten his mood.

"Have a seat," He flicked his hand at a carved arm chair which came scraping quickly forward for Hermione to sit on. Another flick of his wrist and the coffee table vanished from the nest of sofas and materialised before her. Smiling she set her dinner down and then herself, tucking stray whisps of curly brown hair behind her ears. With a third flourish two sets of fine bone handled cutlery appeared in his hand. He passed her a set before starting on his own food. After two mouthfuls he stopped.

"Drink?" She nodded, unable to speak around the mouthful of beef. With a click of his fingers two glass goblets of dark red wine appeared. Picking his up he took a sip, testing its fruity flavour. He nodded and smiled, setting it down again in preference for his cutlery.

"You'll have to teach me that one Re- Professor," Hermione smiled despite her blush. What was she thinking? Calling him Remus- it was impolite what with her still a child in his eyes. He'd never see her in any other way, of that she was sure. How it broke her heart.

"Call me Remus," He said after swallowing. "You are the adult in the room after all," He smiled and took another bite. Hermione's eyes looked questioningly up at him, for she was, despite being sat on a chair the same height as his, undeniably shorter. "Sorry, it's just it seems childish of me to not have been able to…rise above him," Vehemently Hermione shook her head.

"Not at all…Remus," She tested the name on her tongue before continuing. "I thought you were well within your rights as you are more…experienced, to put him in his place. I thought it brave that you stood up to his childish rage with an adult reaction," He smiled then, his eyes twinkling in the soft candlelight. Somewhere during the conversation they had returned to their piercing forget-me-not blue. Seeing that warmth directed at her, her breath caught and she blushed fiercely as she felt the arousal within her. What was wrong with her? She dropped her gaze quickly, suddenly very interested in her meal.

"Thank you…Hermione," A small smile was all she showed him. Inside, her stomach was doing flips, her heart was thundering.

Remus finished his meal first, leaving the empty jacket skins, his knife and fork neatly coupled facing toward the centre. Scooping up his half empty glass, his attention returned briefly to the photo still beside him at the writing desk. Swallowing her last bite, Hermione, having also left the skins, place her knife and fork in a mirror image of Remus', took a sip of wine to clear her mouth and cleared her throat.

"Might I-" A deep blush patterned her cheeks once more as he turned his full attention on her. "That is, if you don't mind- could I see that?" She gestured towards the moving photo in his hand. He smiled at her, looked at it for a second more then passed it over.

Six faces smiled back at her; a family. At the rear, stood behind his beautiful wife was a tall, proud and robust man with a great walrus moustache, a smart set of wizarding robes and a gleaming chain that lead to a pocket watch. To his right was a younger, handsome man who reminded her of Remus save for his broad, cheeky grin. He too wore smart robes emblazoned with the crest of Ravenclaw on his right and what she assumed was the family crest on his left. On the other side a teenage girl, with all the grace of her mother and the bearing of her father, her pretty face framed by lengths of straight hair, probably the same colour as the younger man; her brother. To either side of the mother of the family a set of twins stood, a hand resting on the arm of her chair- the chair Hermione herself was sat in. The girl twin had angel-curled hair and a heart breakingly innocent smile; she couldn't have been more then seven. The boy twin, stood in front of the teen with her hand holding his shoulder, smiling a matching, care free smile to the person behind the camera and Hermione realised, with a pang, that this boy was the man who sat before her; before he was attacked.

Mouth slightly open, eyebrows raised, Hermione looked up at Remus. His expression nearly brought tears to her eyes. He looked so vulnerable, so sweet, so innocent. "What are their names?" Hermione looked back down at the picture, just in case he guessed her thoughts.

"From left to right, my sister Aramelda Angeline, my father John, my brother Romulus Eltram…myself, my mother Katriana…and my twin sister Selene," His voice was almost reverent as the names rolled off his tongue. A shuddering sigh passed through him. "I haven't seen Melly- Aramelda that is, for fifteen years. The rest…well, that's partly why I told Harry I knew more than he on the subject of loss,"

"I'm sorry professor I-" Hermione began.

"Please, call me Remus," And with that he dismissed the subject. He drained the last of the wine from his goblet and took the picture gently from Hermione's hands, tucking it back with the rest.

"Enough melancholy for one night I think," Remus said decisively in the cloying quiet. Hermione looked up at him. He smiled at her. "I think tea, chocolate and some good books are in order- finally I can show you my collection," He laughed, deep and rippling. Catching his mood, Hermione smiled too. Waving his hand the goblets and plates disappeared and then he offered it with a bow to Hermione. "Allow me to escort you there," He grinned at her, and she couldn't suppress the giggle that escaped as she took his hand, nervously at first. Pulling her to her feet, Remus hooked her hand quickly onto his left arm and led her to a door at the end of the room.


	3. Fact or Fiction

Hermione's jaw dropped as twelve foot tall book cases crowded the walls of the room. Above it, reaching up to the second floor of the house was a walkway and a further array of bookshelves. Squashed between the dark wood and hundreds of volumes, tall stain glass windows spanned the two floors down one wall, promising to be sunlit from the early hours of the morning to the latest moments of sunset. Behind her, the door by which they had entered was in fact part of a book case just as packed as the rest of the shelving. At the far end of the wall opposite the windows a carved doorway was visible. While the wall directly opposite sported a broad hearth with a gilt-framed painting and an array of sofas scattered before it. In the centre of this library was a thick legged carved table with a number of chairs positioned around it, a heavy tome open on one side. Beside her, a polished dark wood and brass trimmed ladder hung on a rail that ran around the room and was supported by a runner before the book cases.

Awed, she moved further into the library and gazed around her. Her reflection peered back at her in the window.

"My sanctuary," Remus grinned at her back.

"It's…amazing…" She turned to him, smiling broadly. "Gosh, where do I begin to look?" Remus thought for a moment.

"Well, there's a range of fact, fiction and something in between the two, both muggle and magical. Transfiguration, History, Sports, Comedy, Tragedy, Horror, Romance- I could go on but I won't insult your intelligence," He smiled warmly at her and then moved to set of books near the first window. He pulled out a book at what seemed like random and then took a seat by the crackling fire. "The book on the table categorises everything, tells you were to find it. Help yourself,"

Some time later Hermione sat opposite him with a book bound in red leather with gold leafing swirling onto its cover. It's title was printed on the first of its pages; _Women in Love by D. H. Lawrence_; a muggle romantic book which at the time of its writing in World War One Britain was deemed pornographic. In truth she didn't quite know why she had chosen it, it wasn't her usual taste. Perhaps it had been that she had heard of Lawrence from her mum but never had the chance to read any.

Remus was already engrossed but as she sat, he caught her eye and smiled encouragingly at her and inclining his head to the cup of tea that waited for her, levitating to her left side.

"Thank you, Remus," Again a silence followed and for some minutes only the turning of pages, the sipping of tea and the snap and hiss of the fire filled the room; pleasant noises that lifted their previous melancholy mood. A small half-laugh from Hermione made him look up from his book. But when he saw her face, it was far from happy. Sad eyes scanned the words before her, her lips slightly parted as if her throat were suddenly tight.

"Are you alright?" He asked quietly. She didn't respond, instead she remained staring fixedly at the page. Tears pricked her engulfing chocolate eyes, she sniffed. Suddenly concerned he stood and crossed the gap to sit beside her. "Hermione?"

"Yes I-" She attempted to smile then. "It's just this book, I'm ten pages in and already crying," She said feeling foolish and wiping her eyes with her thumb knuckles. "Sort of, hit the nail on the head, really," She half-laughed again. "Oh, it's just some silly insecurities of mine, nothing really," She said looking into those caring blue eyes of the man now close enough for her to reach out and touch, with just one motion she could have kissed him, poured out all her thoughts, told him all her feelings in that one caress.

"If it upsets you, it's far from silly," He placed a tentative hand around her shoulder. Seeing this usually reserved, intelligent young woman in even so much as a minor state as this, made him suddenly want to comfort and console her. "Let me read?" He said, indicating with his free hand to book in her hand. Swallowing and sniffling again she passed him the book.

"From there," She pointed to the second paragraph on page ten. "To the end of the second paragraph on page eleven," Again the small half-laugh. "It's silly, it really is," Withdrawing his hand from her shoulders he quickly read the few paragraphs.

_Hermione knew herself to be well-dressed; she knew herself to be the social equal, if not far the superior, of anyone she was likely to meet in Willey Green. She knew she was accepted in the world of culture and of intellect. She was a Kulturträger, a medium for the culture of ideas. With all that was highest, whether in society or in thought or in public action, or even in art, she was at one, she moved among the foremost, at home with them. No one could put her down, no one could make mock of her, because she stood among the first, and those who ere against her were below her, either in rank or in wealth, or in high association of thought and progress and understanding. So, she was invulnerable. All her life, she had sought to make herself invulnerable, unassailable, beyond reach of the world's judgement._

_And yet her soul was tortured, exposed. Even walking up the path to the church, confident as she knew that in every respect she stood beyond all vulgar judgement, knowing perfectly that her appearance was complete and perfect, according to the first standards, yet she suffered a torture, under her confidence and her pride, feeling herself exposed to wounds and to mockery and to despite. She always felt vulnerable, there was always a secret chink in her armour. She did not know herself what it was. It was a lack of robust self, she had no natural sufficiency, there was a terrible void, a lack, a deficiency of being within her._

_And she wanted someone to close up this deficiency, to close it up forever. She craved for Rupert Birkin. When he was there, she felt complete, she was sufficient, whole. For the rest of the time she was established on the sand, built over a chasm, and, in spite of all her vanity and securities, any common maid-servant of positive, robust temper could fling her down this bottomless pit of insufficiency, by the slightest movement of jeering or contempt. And all the while the pensive, tortured woman piled up her own defences or aesthetic knowledge, and culture, and world-visions, and disinterestedness. Yet she could never stop up the terrible gap of insufficiency. _

_If only Birkin would form a close and abiding connection with her, she would be safe during this fretful voyage of life. He could make her sound and triumphant, triumphant over the very angels of heaven. If only he would do it! But she was tortured with fear, with misgiving. She made herself beautiful, she strove hard to come to that degree of beauty and advantage, when he should be convinced. But always there was a deficiency._

Closing the book carefully he remained silent as she considered him with tearful trusting eyes. Smiling lightly he drew her to him in a hug, consoling, warm. Her head resting in his chest feeling the heat of his body beneath her, she wrapped her arms around him relishing in the comfort he gave but damning herself. This was stupid- her crying over a few words in a book written over eighty years ago. But those words rang scarily close to truth. It didn't help that this character shared the same name as she. Being there with Remus too, and reading of the inconstancy of Rupert Birkin, brought home to her the full realisation of her feelings, in one rush of emotion it overcame her.

All at once she felt small, vulnerable, childish and unloved. Suddenly she was no long self-assured and confident in her own intelligence, she doubted herself and chided herself for feeling such things for a man twice her age and she, barely grown up. She didn't want him to let her go, she wanted him to stay there, holding her, and soothing the child she was yet she wanted more and hated herself for it. It could never happen. It would only lead to heartache on her part, and irritation on his- as was evident with Tonks. Why then, with such strong proof, did she still persist in feeling as she did?

"Just know, Hermione, that you are far from deficient," His voice reverberated in his chest, sending vibrations through her. "You should never feel unsure in yourself," How gentle he was as he spoke. She was vaguely aware of one of his hands toying lazily; it seemed, with the ends of her curly hair. "You are the most remarkable young woman, I have ever met, and I am sorry you should think yourself lacking in anything,"

They sat like that for a few moments, she clinging to the back of his robes almost desperately trying to win the war inside her head. _He thinks I am remarkable, I'm not deficient. But he's only saying it to be polite, to stem a childish upset. But he called me a young woman._

"And whoever this Rupert Birkin chap is supposed to be," He said with a little humour in his voice. "Tell him from me he deserves a good slap if he can't see how truly beautiful you already are," Hermione laughed tearfully and looked up at him, pulling slowly away. "Any man would be stupid not to see it," He smiled, tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Now we really need the chocolate,"


	4. Negotiations

Chapter Four - Negotiations

Two days later, Hermione sat comfortably at the table for breakfast, waiting as Molly, Tonks and Charlie finalised the slap up, full English. In her right hand she grasped loosely onto the handle of a mug of tea, with her left she held the D.H. Lawrence book poised while her brown eyes read the words written therein. Her pace did not halt or falter as she raised the mug to her lips to sip the hot contents and then replace it on the table. Already she was only sixty pages from the end having devoured the book with some appetite the previous day when she had found herself a little more emotionally stable, it having absolutely nothing to do with the fact Remus had left on a brief mission and would return later that day; of course...nothing…

In truth she wanted to have something to discuss with him when he returned aside from his mission. He was bound to be tired and reluctant to divulge the details, especially if it had failed. All she knew was that he was to locate a few members of what Moody called 'Remus' old crowd' and persuade them to ally themselves with us. So, she wanted something to divert his thoughts, allow him to relax a little.

_Especially if it had failed_. That brief thought suddenly reared up and Hermione stopped reading. What if it did fail? Would he be alright? _Of course he will be; he's a great wizard and a seasoned fighter. _She chided herself but could not banish the bad feeling that writhed in her gut. Supposing he wasn't alright?

"Hermione," Ginny's hand on her arm made her jump from her reverie. She was made aware of tears brimming. "Are you feeling ok?"

Hermione nodded and laughed at herself. "Yes, I'm fine, it's just this stupid book," She laughed again looking at Ginny.

"You? Crying at a book? Come on, tell me," Ginny raised her eyebrows inquisitively. Hermione shook her head, protesting there was nothing to tell. "Look, I know there's something bothering you. Come on, just tell me and maybe I can help," Ginny shuffled closer to Hermione and put an arm around her.

"It's stupid, Gin, it really is," Hermione shook her head, a frown passed briefly onto her features and left again. "It's just that I have this really bad feeling- I had a dream last night and well, it's sort of lingering. I just feel that something bad is going to happen to the professor,"

Meanwhile

"So vat exactly do you vant vith us?" The thick Russian accent seemed to dance from her lips as the High Sorceress Aroya, headmistress to the private wizarding academy Valpurnia reclined in her almost throne like seat. Around the table in the staff room the six other staff members sat in almost glittering robes, cool Russian eyes observing Remus as well as the three other guests.

The blonde haired witch was magnificently attired in silver-grey robes with the grey web emblem stitched into the silky fabric making her almost-black eyes seem inhuman and startlingly captivating. It was strange to think that he had once loved this brilliant creature before him, as cold and untouchable as she was. Strange to remember the warmth of her flesh beneath his, those pale lips darkened with kisses, the pale cheeks flushed with desire.

"An alliance," His eyes flickered to the people congregated; High Sorceress Aroya, Sorcerer's Danibeth, Maikaan and Giri, Sorceress's Hana, Ursula and Kaeda, Ameil the bounty hunter, Shani an Archivist and Faith, the healer. "An alliance with the Order of the Phoenix, to once and for all remove Voldemort from this ludicrous ascension to dictatorship and death,"

"And what makes you so sure that our joining could be of any assistance?" The plump Sorceress Hana chimed in, with her perfect operatic voice.

"Because block head," Ameil interrupted. "We are some of most powerful witch and wizard in Europe," His dark, deep voice resonated in the small room. "I join. Also am after price on head of Greyback," He laughed, a window rattling laugh at his own now-easy success to come.

"You and me both," Remus smiled ruefully at the muscular man and returned to the rest. "You congregated here are indeed some of the most powerful sorcerers in Europe and with your aid we can rid ourselves of Voldemort before he gathers too much power to be stopped. As matters stand, Britain is too divided and shaken to even trust their families and neighbours, France are too wrapped up in their damn Giant problem to even dream of offering us Auror assistance- ours being somewhat depleted of late what with all the damned suicides, murders and turn-coats. We have power but not enough, we fear, neither to stop heavy losses nor to even be certain of victory,"

"Britain's problems are their own," Maikaan sneered to the High Sorceress in their native Russian. "I will not risk myself, my family or the student's here to become fodder for their war. They are alone in this,"

"With all due respect, Sorcerer Maikaan," Remus replied in fluent Russian. "If you do not take the risk now, risk losing a minority for the good of the majority, none of us- all over the world, Sorcerer, not just Britain, will not stand a cat-in-hell's chance of succeeding. Do you want to see half –bloods, muggle-borns and muggles annihilated, slaughtered in their thousands? Your own daughters are half-blood are they not? Do you want to see their little frames broken and bleeding from rape and torture? Because if you do not take the chance while we still have one, that's what you'll see- until they decide they're bored of your pleading, your pain as they force you to watch the dissembling of your family, piece by piece,"

"Cousin, you would have my support even if you had not asked," Giri rasped with his smoke-ravaged vocal chords. He offered a strong, firm hand to Remus who shook it obligingly with a smile. Two recruits.

"It has been foretold that war will come, many will die regardless but I will not stay and watch the stars, I will go with you into battle, for I have seen my own demise there and know I would rather die fighting than begging here, cold and alone," The steely gaze of the round-faced Astronomy teacher, Kaeda, pierced Remus to the core, she was a very adept seer and radically eccentric.

"Well, it'll be a damn good bit of fun all the same," Ursula chortled. "Seeing all the boys again back at HQ, what's left of the poor blighters anyway- that old nut Moody still hanging on?" The sporty, charismatic personality of the Flying and Care of Magical Creatures Sorceress was one Remus had cherished since attending Hogwarts with her, though she had finished as he entered his fifth year. Remus nodded.

Danibeth, the one-eyed grisly faced Defence Against the Dark Arts professor breathed heavily through his displaced nostrils and nodded in mute ascent. He had, after all, had a rather unfortunate encounter which had cost him his tongue.

Shani shook her head. "I'm a keeper of the records, not a fighter Remus,"

"You do not have to fight but your knowledge could be invaluable to us- how many spells for instance appear in the archives that are no longer in practise?" Remus tried to reason with her.

"That's because most of them are bloody illegal now and you know it-"

"This is to be a war of surprise and change, your help could sway it for us," His voice had lowered considerably to address Shani at his side in hopes of persuading her. "I need you, Shani, I need you all,"


	5. Those Eyes

Chapter 5 - Those Eyes

Gazing out into the black clouds that darkened the afternoon, Hermione sighed heavily, the first spatters of rain patterned the clear glass of her bedroom window. She perched in the window seat, now covered with a fresh layer of rich red and gold fabric. Near her, an old desk stood firm, small drawers piled on its surface with an ancient train of dripped wax from candles burned long ago, topping them. She had placed a new candle here, a thick church candle which now burned brightly, fighting the gloom. She held a half-written letter. Sighing again, she crumpled it up and tossed it across the room- missing the bin Molly had provided. It was a stupid idea anyway.

Her gaze returned to the window, the rain and gusting wind, trees in the grounds thrashed dangerously about. _When's he coming back?_ She'd finished the book shortly after breakfast, cleaned up a room or two with some of the Order Members, had a lunch of salad, fried potatoes and sausages, baked cakes with Ginny under the watchful eye of Molly and fussed Crookshanks. Now she sat alone in her room, a silly girlish notion akin to Prince Charming coming to the rescue of a princess, playing itself out in her mind. And the prince, she thought, was taking his sweet time in coming to sweep her off her feet.

Her eyes wandered to the path and she started. _Remus?_ Jumping up from her window seat she hurried down the stairs, across the corridor of the first floor and down a second flight to the ground floor. Suddenly regaining composure she walked a steady as the butterflies in her stomach would allow to the entrance hall. A deep knocking was heard above the pounding of the rain as she approached the door. Peeking out of the windows that were positioned at the side of the studded door she took in the countenance of the man swathed in a thick black cloak. A row of shining white teeth grinned back at her from the face of dark skin. _Kingsley._ Her heart sank but she pulled the door open, smiling as he stepped through.

"Not missed dinner have I?" Hermione shook her head at him. "Gooood," He took off the dripping cloak, dried it and the floor off with a flick of his wand and moved to hang it up with a range of other cloaks that lined the wall. "Is Remus back yet?" He asked as he slipped his cloak on a vacant peg. Again she shook her head. "Are you on door duty? Will you let me know as soon as he gets back please, Miss Granger?"

"Uh…sure, yeah I'll do that," Kingsley nodded and left the room in the direction of the main hall. Hermione sighed heavily. She'd probably be waiting ages for him to return. Slumping onto one of the hard-backed chairs at one wall, she sat and waited. Lost in her own thoughts, she was a little surprised when Kinglsey appeared with her dinner on a tray some time later, smiling. Then he left again, for an Order meeting.

The scraps of her dinner had long since grown cold and were still cluttering the tray the she had placed on the floor, under the chair. The entrance hall, despite its cold stone and lack of a fireplace was strangely snug and warm, the light from the candles now a cosy orange glow as some had burned down to the wick. Resting her head back against the smooth stone wall her eyes began to grow heavy. How long had she been waiting? The rain had stopped some time ago but it was dark outside and the wind still blew strongly. Her eye lids drooped. She stretched and yawned widely and spread her slim frame across the chairs beside her, now placing her head on her crooked arm. The room grew darker and her eyes closed.

He didn't notice her until he'd removed his cloak and hung it up on his peg. By this time he'd smoothed his hair down too. And there she was, sleeping on the none-to-comfy seats in the entrance hall. He smiled lightly to himself. _Waiting for me. Eager to hear everything no doubt._ She looked so peaceful, he almost thought to carry her to her room to stop from waking her up- but then that would be a hard thing to explain if she did wake up. Better to rouse her first. Stepping gently over to her, he placed his hand on her shoulder carefully.

"Hermione," He said quietly. She didn't stir. He tried again, a little louder this time. The semblance of consciousness began to emerge and he spoke her name again. Blearily her brown eyes opened and fixed on his. They nearly took his breath away. _Such eyes…wait- what?_ He covered it quickly. "You can't sleep here all night," he smiled at her. "Come on, lets get you up to bed," He helped her to stand up, still rubbing her eyes, one hand had slipped around his waist holding the back of his shirt for balance.

"I was told-" She yawned and seemed to wake up a little more. "Kingsley thought I was on door duty when I let him in, said I should inform him when you got back," She stretched and removed her hand from Remus, arranging her creased shirt and running a hand over her hair.

"Well it can wait till morning now, besides I'm absolutely tired out," He smiled at her again. "Come on, bed time," He held an arm out almost around her shoulders in a gesture to lead her toward the stairs but instead of moving forwards she came to him, wrapping her arms around his torso, her head resting on one side of his chest. Her eyes closed again. It was then he noticed the dark bags under them. _Poor girl, she looks more bushed than I feel._

Half jokingly he smiled at her and said: "Do I have to carry you up the stairs?" to his shock, she nodded. Reaching her arms around his neck then, he raised his eyebrows but scooped up her small person with ease, letting her settle against him, her arms fixed loosely around his neck. _By Merlin- how light is she? There's hardly anything to her._ He began walking at a steady gait to the stairs and the looked up at them. _Two flights of these,_ he grimaced _what do you get yourself into Moony?_ Sighing, he took the first step upwards and ascended to the first floor landing. Silent as a mouse he crept down the dimly lit corridor feeling the warmth of the girl in his arms, the softness of the breath against his neck, the hands that trustingly held him. When he reached the second flight he curled his lip in distaste. They were narrow so he'd have to be careful he didn't hurt her.

Eventually he reached her bedroom door and made to put her down but she clung tighter to him with a malcontent little grumble. _She's still just a little girl despite this warring. At least she still has innocence_. Somehow, he managed to twist the door handle and push into the room. The candle on the desk was burned down low, casting eerie shadows about the room. His gaze fell on the bed, already half turned down with the top of the covers touching the bottom, folded in half. He lowered her carefully onto the feather mattress, her legs, bare but for the skirt that covered the top of her thigh and the ankle socks under the prim dress-shoes. _Dirty old man_. Remus muttered to himself, smiling.

It would be cold tonight, he knew. As she released her hold of him, he moved to slip off her shoes, placing each one neatly under the bed, then, one arm scooping under knees, lifted them so he could pull the covers up. He laid her legs back down and began arranging the cover.

"Stay with me, you're warm," She muttered. "And more comfortable," Remus suppressed a smile with the shock factor this statement caused.

"You'll soon warm up under there," he stood, finished tucking her in now. "Good night, Hermione,"

"G'night…Remus…" Was all he heard as her voice trailed into sleep. Leaving her room, he closed the door quietly behind him and made his way downstairs to his room. _She actually said that. By Merlin's sparkly underwear- _

_no!_ he argued with himself. _Don't be bloody stupid, she was tired, didn't know what she was saying. She was more than likely saying it in a father-daughter sense. She's an innocent girl for Merlin's sake. _

_She was a young woman only two days ago. _

_I only said that because she needed to hear it- she's growing up after all._

_Of course you did, I suppose that's why you told her she was beautiful and lacking in nothing._

_Shut-up. _

_And those eyes…_


End file.
